


A Day to Remember

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Humour, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bilbo Has Issues, Bilbo is So Done, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bilbo, POV Thorin, Poor Bilbo, Protective Thorin, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Short-Term Memory Loss, Slash, Slow Burn, Thorin Broods, Thorin Feels, Thorin Pining, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uncle Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to work, Thorin hits it off with a cute stranger. They agree to meet the next day, but when Thorin shows up, Bilbo pretends to not remember him.<br/>What Thorin doesn’t know is Bilbo suffered a traumatic head injury, and is unable to form any new memories. Every morning when he wakes up, Bilbo forgets everything that has happened, and is left thinking it’s still the morning of his accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mod!AU based off the movie 50 First Dates.  
> Thank you to pythagoreanpineapple, gaytriotic, and tea-blitz for contributing ideas! And a special thanks to pythagoreanpineapple for looking over this chapter!

Thorin slid into the seat with a slight groan, adjusting his navy blue tie before starting the car. The engine purred to life, and Thorin started down the road, a familiar start to a familiar routine.

The trees whipped past in a blur, the paved street weathered to grey smoothness. In spite of Thorin’s general lack of directional abilities, even he could find his way to _Erebor_ , the same diner he had been going to for a few years now. It was high end, chic and modern, most clientele like himself – businessmen looking for a quick meal on their way to work.

But as Thorin pulled in today, the parking lot was suspiciously empty. Idling his car by the front, Thorin hopped out and stormed to the entrance.

“Fuck,” he growled as he read the sign – closed, without any further notice. Stalking back to his car, he slammed the door with more force than necessary. Pulling back his sleeve to check his watch, he took a slow, deep breath, forcing himself to calm. There was still plenty of time – he would just stop by the first place he passed on his way to the meeting.

 

As predicted, he came across another diner along his route. It wasn’t quite what he was used to, shabby wood paneling and rickety steps greeting him outside. As if on cue with his pessimism, Thorin’s stomach grumbled loudly; at this point, he’d be happy so long as the food was edible.

Climbing up the creaking staircase, Thorin paused, reading the large brick letters painted over the entrance. _The Blue Mountain._ It was an eccentric name to be sure – there weren’t any mountains around for miles – but it seemed as good a place as any.

Opening the panel doors, Thorin was immediately enveloped by the hum of customers chatting away with each other, scrape of forks and knives against each other, clang and mash of food being prepared in the back. Overall the interior had a relaxed, homey atmosphere. An island with bar stools lined the kitchen, but Thorin opted for a booth, grimacing as the plastic material made a squelching noise as he sat. Large for just one, but he didn’t need some too-friendly stranger plopping down next to him, trying for amiable conversation this early in the morning.

Opening the laminated menu, Thorin idly scanned the food items. It was all quite typical, nothing Thorin couldn’t have made at home. Theoretically, that is; he was an expert with a microwave, but actually cooking food was not his area of expertise.

“Good mornin’, Bilbo! How are ye doin’ today?”

Thorin’s head lifted at the loud, lilting accent. A waiter making his rounds, if the black slacks and apron were anything to go by, passing by customers on his way to Thorin’s booth, pen and pad at the ready. But just as Thorin mentally prepared his order, another voice came, and Thorin found his eyes drawn to the speaker.

“Good morning, Bofur,” a man greeted familiarly. “It’s Father’s birthday today!”

Had Thorin looked over to the waiter, he may have seen a flash of grimness in his eyes, a tightness of his too-bright smile. As it were, Thorin found a singular focus on the customer.

It was admittedly hard to tell while he was sitting, but the man looked rather short, his head barely reaching the top of the booth. Golden curls fell in a carefully groomed tousle, framing round cheeks and a smooth jaw. His lips pulled into an easy grin, large hazel eyes sparkling with excitement.

Thorin felt heat flood his cheeks as he stared at the man, intrigue stirring in his stomach, the gnawing ache of hunger all but forgotten. He was devastatingly handsome, Thorin thought as he licked his lips unconsciously.

“What can I get for ye, sir?”

Thorin watched, captivated, as the man turned back to his newspaper, soon engrossed in the latest news. He did not, however, notice how the waiter had left the customer’s side.

“Excuse me, sir, but are ye ready to order?” the waiter repeated, clearing his throat loudly.

The businessman jumped slightly, startled from his (admittedly creepy) staring. Turning to the man in front of him, he felt a flush bloom up his neck and towards his ears.

“I – uh,” Thorin stuttered, cursing himself internally. “Um.” Hopelessly, his eyes turned to the other customer once more, who was still absorbed in his paper.

“Ye alright there, sir?” Bofur asked, nauseatingly chipper grin slowly slipping from his face.

“Yes, yes,” Thorin grunted impatiently, quickly covering his embarrassment with irritation. “Bacon and eggs and a black coffee,” he muttered, handing the menu over. Despite Thorin’s less-than-friendly demeanor, Bofur gave him a bright smile, tipping his large, furry hat before scuttling off.

Were hats even allowed to be worn by restaurant workers? Thorin wondered vaguely as the waiter walked away, leaving him alone once again.

 

Thorin looked up for the umpteenth time. He couldn’t help it, he told himself. And it had nothing to do with the comely, soft look, of his attention’s focus either.

No, the sight before him was absolutely ridiculous, and quite honestly deserved slack-jawed gaping.

Not that Thorin was staring or anything.

Back to the point, the ridiculousness stemmed from the _platters of food_ in front of the lone customer.

A pile of pancakes, two sunny-side up eggs, strips of bacon, sausages, four pieces of toast with _generous_ slatherings of jam, and Belgian waffles.

Who had pancakes _and_ waffles? Not to mention, how could someone so small possibly devour all that food?

It had been eating at Thorin all morning – no pun intended, because he was not that hopelessly cheesy, unlike his eternally-damned sister Dís (said with all due love and respect).

If Thorin was being completely honest with himself, his attention had been drawn long before the huge amounts of food. But there was no problem with lying to oneself every once in a while, surely.

He wondered if perhaps the stranger was waiting for someone else, ignoring the reflexive clench of his jaw at such a thought. It was none of his business; just because he found the man cute, handsome, and beguilingly becoming… well, it wasn’t like Thorin was going to do anything about it. With a sigh that sounded more like a derisive snort, the businessman turned back to his food, finding his now-cold eggs no longer appealing.

After a few desolate moments of pushing his food back and forth around his plate – a habit he often scolded his nephews for – Thorin glanced back up at the stranger one last time. The man seemed to be sampling each plate – something one would not do, were they waiting for others. All Thorin had to do was go over there, say something charming, and slide into the seat across him. Maybe they would hit it off, and if Thorin was truly lucky, he may even get the man’s number.

Gulping the rest of his coffee down, Thorin sprang from his seat, immediately walking towards the stranger before he could second-guess himself. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck, chest tightening uncomfortably, palms slick and heart thrumming.

Stopping in front of the man’s booth, the customer looked up, the cock of his head sending his curls bouncing gently. Hazel eyes crinkled at the corner as the man gave Thorin a friendly, welcoming smile.

Thorin opened his mouth, a thousand things running through his head – _good morning, how are you today, I could lose myself in your beautiful eyes, I haven’t stopped staring at you since I walked in, I’d like to put your tongue to different uses_ –

All right, scratch that last one.

But as he forced the air out of his choking throat, lips and tongue moving to form simple, friendly words, he found himself blurting out, “You eat a lot!”

Immediately he groaned, fingers lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes clenched shut, unwilling to face the no doubt fuming look on the man’s face. Of course he would mess this up, how could Thorin think this was a good idea, he was bloody useless –

A light, tinkering laugh had him prying an eye open cautiously. To his utter shock, the customer sitting before his had thrown his head back in gay laughter, ascot loose enough to reveal his creamy, smooth neck, drawing Thorin’s gaze in hungrily.

“I guess I have a big appetite,” the man admitted, grinning and patting his plump belly, covered by a yellow waistcoat and white linen shirt.

“I – I didn’t mean to –” Thorin stammered, cheeks burning in humiliation.

“It’s alright!” The man waved away Thorin’s almost-apology without a care, giving the man a considering look. “Do you want to join me?” he asked, as though it were so easy, gesturing to the empty seat across him.

The strangled noise Thorin made was meant to be a _thank you_ , but Bilbo just laughed it off.

“Bilbo, by the way,” the man formally introduced, foregoing a handshake to tuck back into his breakfast.

“Thorin,” he grunted in return, shifting awkwardly.

“What do you do?” Bilbo asked, glancing up for a moment as he poured more maple syrup all over his remaining pancakes.

“I’m a business consultant,” Thorin revealed, adjusting his tie nervously. And he had a meeting to go to, his mind recalled regrettably. “I’ve never been here before.”

Bilbo chuckled, plopping a huge serving of pancake into his mouth and chewing thoroughly. “I didn’t think so,” he said, eyeing Thorin’s white-collar dress pointedly.

Thorin cleared his throat, muttering, “My usual place was closed.”

“How are you liking _The Blue Mountain_ , then?” Bilbo asked, eyes twinkling.

“Well, they have one customer whom I find incredibly striking,” Thorin managed, quite smoothly he thought.

Bilbo’s head ducked shyly, cheeks painted a comely pink, corners of his lips twitching. “Oh?” he entreated coyly, hazel eyes lifting to meet Thorin’s blue determinedly.

Thorin opened his mouth to say more when the waiter abruptly stopped in front of them. Jaw slacked, he stared, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

“Bofur, is everything alright?” Bilbo asked, just as Thorin spotted a clock on the wall behind the bemusing waiter.

Muttering an oath under his breath, he took out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table, almost bumping into the waiter in his haste to get up.

“I’ve got a meeting,” Thorin explained remorsefully, pointedly ignoring the strangely horrified expression on Bofur’s face.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bilbo asked immediately, shooting Bofur a confused frown before turning back to Thorin, smiling hopefully.

“I’d like that,” Thorin mumbled, slightly uncomfortable with the waiter’s gawking. He shot Bilbo once last smile, likely more of a grimace than anything, but the effort was there.

Once in his car, Thorin allowed himself to grin unencumbered, contentment warming his belly.

And if he lost his way twice on the way to work, well… He blamed it on the sweet, curly-haired man clouding his thoughts.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested in anterograde amnesia, which is what Bilbo has, I did some research before writing this fic. If you guys want, you can read this little blurb to get a better idea of what’s going on. (I don’t have a degree in psychology, but it is one of my passions, so I apologize if I am in any way mistaken.)
> 
> Anterograde amnesia is the inability to create new memories, with a partial or total inability to recall the recent past. Long-term memories before the event that caused this amnesia are in tact. It may be caused by medication, illness, or head trauma.  
> There is a failure with memory encoding and storage. While new information is processed normally, it never makes it to the part of the brain where long-term memories are stored, which is separate.  
> Most people with anterograde amnesia lose declarative memory (facts and events), but can retain procedural memory (physical skills and habits). This is because procedural memory does not rely on the hippocampus and medial temporal lobe – which are damaged in cases such as these – in the same way that declarative memory does.  
> In cases of retrograde amnesia – where long-term memory before the incident is lost – there is often a gradual restoration of information. However, this is NOT the case for anterograde amnesia.  
> Now, in all fairness, Bilbo’s memories should be fading a LOT quicker than in this story. He would lose them long before falling asleep. However, that doesn’t make for a very good romance, now does it? We don’t want to go all Memento with sticky notes everywhere. So, keep in mind that that part of this story is unrealistic. My apologies!
> 
> Also, thanks for the wait; I like to keep a one chapter buffer. So once chapter four is written, I will post chapter three!   
> Looking over chapter one, I realized I accidentally said Thorin was wearing a dress. Seriously guys, please feel free to point out any embarrassing blunders if you see them. My ego is taking a blow here!

Thorin tried to keep the goofy grin off his face. He really did. But it was futile; it had been so long since he had met someone he was even vaguely interested in, let alone someone who made his heart race with just a look. Luckily Dís wasn’t around; no doubt she would tease him mercilessly. But alas, Thorin lived alone, in spite of his sister’s insistence that he was welcome to stay with them.

In all honesty, he needed his own place – if only to get some breathing room from his reckless nephews. And he know that the only reason Dís invited him to move in so much – or at least the main reason – was so he could take the brunt of their exhausting personalities.

He wasn’t going to be so easily fooled.

This morning, as Thorin pulled into his new favourite restaurant for breakfast, he felt a strange feeling come over him, similar to what he had felt yesterday when first approaching Bilbo. Only now, the nerve-wracking nausea was replaced with nervous excitement.

It was his first date in – well, perhaps for his own self-esteem, he shouldn’t count. But it had been many, many…many years.

Was it even a date?

Thorin faltered at the sudden thought, fumbling the door handle. He hadn’t even asked, just assumed. But Bilbo had responded to his advances – if he could call them that – and asked to meet today. If that wasn’t a date, then what was?

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin straightened, flexing his shoulders. He was thirty-seven years old, for Mahal’s sake; he could go meet another man for breakfast and _be a normal human being_ while doing so.

Even if said man was young, charming, and damnably cute.

But again, such thoughts were in no way a boon to his confidence, and he could feel his face falling into a reflexive scowl. Carefully plastering the friendliest face he could manage, he strutted through the café, searching as subtly as possible for the familiar face.

Sitting in the same booth as yesterday, Bilbo was not too hard to find. He had a newspaper in front of him, same as before, though no food yet. Admittedly, Thorin _may_ have sped a little in his haste to get here. But perhaps he was waiting until Thorin arrived to order, and the man’s lips twitched at the endearing thought.

Stopping in front of the booth, Thorin awkwardly stood, waiting for Bilbo to look up. When he did, however, it was with the same initial smile as yesterday – friendly, but polite, and lacking the warmth of pleased recognition.

“Hi,” Thorin mumbled finally, trying not to shift from foot to foot.

“Well, hullo,” Bilbo replied slowly, brow creasing slightly.

“May I sit?” Thorin asked finally, since it seemed he wasn’t going to receive a warmer welcome.

“Alright,” Bilbo agreed, eyeing his companion wearily.

Clearing his throat, Thorin looked anywhere but at the man in front of him. The awkward silence continued between them for a long moment. Without even looking, Thorin could feel the man’s gaze flitting continuously up towards him. There was no rustle of paper, not even the pretense of reading.

Clenching his jaw, Thorin steeled himself, glancing towards Bilbo. The man looked up as well, seemingly torn over something. Dropping his gaze, Thorin braced himself to stand. “If I’m so unwelcome,” he bit out, “I’ll just leave.”

There was no immediate denial, only a gentle shrug of a shoulder in its place. “I just…don’t really know what you’re doing here,” Bilbo admitted.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Thorin slowly digested this. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” he confessed, unsure of how else to react.

Bilbo’s face bloomed a bright red, but it was not the comely flush of yesterday – his lips pursed, brows furrowed, eyes narrowing angrily. “I think you should leave,” he said, voice dangerously low. His hands fisted on the table, practically shaking.

“I thought, after what you said yesterday –” Thorin growled, only to be interrupted.

“Yesterday?” Bilbo yelled. “I’ve never even met you!”

Before Thorin could so much as open his mouth, the overly cheerful waiter from yesterday decided to make an appearance, popping up at Thorin’s side.

“Everythin’ alright here?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, grabbed Thorin’s shoulder with surprising force. “Let’s have a little talk, now, why don’t we?”

There was no opportunity to protest as Thorin found himself dragged away, still trying to comprehend everything that had just happened. Behind the counter they went, Bofur slamming open a pair of swinging doors. The warm, sweet scent of freshly baking breakfast foods wafted through his nostrils, revealing the kitchen.

“What the hell do you think you’re –”

Thorin’s rant was quickly cut off as a man appeared out of nowhere, waving a knife in Thorin’s face as he yelled furiously. Jumping back immediately, his startled brain only vaguely registering the man’s nonsensical words.

“Alright, alright, Bifur, that’s enough!” Bofur interceded belatedly, throwing his hands up to ward off the crazed man. Bifur slowly dropped his arm, backing off finally. “Now – what’s your name, sir?”

Thorin let his eyes off Bifur for a moment, long enough to send Bofur a lethal glare. “Thorin,” he drawled finally, turning back to the would-be-assailant with a snarl that was readily returned.

“Now, Mister Thorin, what my cousin is trying to tell you– that’s enough, Bifur,” he sighed as the man in question resumed his angry accost. “Is that you need to stay away from Bilbo. Is that understood?”

Thorin looked between the two, bemusement pulling his features into a frown. “What are you talking about?” he growled angrily. “He _asked_ me to meet him here yesterday.”

“And he didn’t recognize you just now, did he?” Bofur stated more than asked.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at –”

“It’s no game,” Bofur insisted. Exchanging a silent conversation with the other man, Bofur sighed and turned back to a confused Thorin, seemingly resigned. “Last year Bilbo was in a car accident, you see. He suffered major trauma to the head. Can’t remember a thing after the accident.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked slowly, shaking his head as the words slowly sunk in. “We talked yesterday – he’s perfectly fine!”

“He may seem that way, but he ain’t got any new memories. Can’t make ‘em, you see.”

“What about – what about before?”

“Everything before the accident, he remembers. Real funny, I know, but Doc says it’s a different part of the brain. Every night when he goes to sleep, Bilbo forgets everything new. When he wakes up, he thinks it’s the morning of the accident.”

“You’re completely serious,” Thorin breathed, glancing between Bofur’s earnest, pained openness, and Bifur’s fierce, protective glare.

“Wish I wasn’t,” Bofur sighed mournfully. “Listen, he ain’t got any memory of meeting you. He doesn’t even realize more than a year has passed.”

“But I saw him reading the newspaper,” Thorin suddenly remembered, hope somehow, vainly, renewed.

Bofur only shook his head pitifully, as if reading the man’s thoughts. “His parents had a bunch of copies from the morning of the accident printed special. They put a copy on the front porch every morning for Bilbo to find.”

Chest tightening, Thorin suddenly found it hard to breathe. Pushing the employee away, Thorin stumbled around until he found a counter to lean against, burying his face in his hands, careless of how his carefully groomed hair was likely a tousled mess by now. “A whole year?” he croaked, wishing someone would tell him different.

“’Fraid so, laddie,” Bofur murmured.

“What if he improves?” Thorin asked, glancing up from his clasped hands. “Brain damage – it can’t always be permanent…”

He trailed off; the pitying look on Bofur’s face said it all. “Bilbo’s a good lad, and Vala knows I love him to death. But a relationship with him, it just ain’t possible.”

He was overreacting – he knew he was overreacting, yet he couldn’t help himself. Pushing his way out of the kitchen, Thorin stormed off, painfully ignoring the shocked and confused glances of the patrons – and one in particular. _  
_


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we may have a *tentative* schedule of weekly updates on Wednesday.

Thorin’s phone had been ringing off the hook for a while now. Having no interest in speaking to anyone, perhaps _ever_ again, he had been dutifully ignoring it. But the constant chiming was grating on his nerves, quickly eating away what little patience he naturally had. Thumb brushing across the screen, he answered the call without so much as looking at the caller identification.

And regretted it immediately.

“The boys say you’ve been brooding all day,” his sister declared, apropos to nothing. Somehow Dís always managed to sound concerned and accusing all at once.

“I don’t brood,” Thorin muttered, not quite managing to put such a claim to rest with his bitter tone.

“You’re right,” his sister agreed happily. “Moping is a far more appropriate word for your childish behaviour.”

“Dís,” Thorin growled, practically able to hear her eye-roll.

“If you just tell me what’s bothering you,” she informed him in a singsong voice, “This will go a lot easier.”

Thorin silently mulled over his options, fingers flexing as he carefully considered. Dís could be unbearable in her teasing – but she was even worse when it came to meddling. If he didn’t tell her, she’d likely start tailing him around the city.

“I met someone,” Thorin finally admitted, teeth clenched so tightly she may as well been pulling one.

The reaction was immediate, and utterly painful: the businessman pulled the phone away from his throbbing ear as his little sister squealed excitedly. “Tell me all about him!” she shouted. “Is he cute? What’s his name? When can I meet him? Why don’t you bring him over for dinner on Friday?”

“Dís!” Thorin shouted, clenching the poor phone dangerously tight. “Enough.”

His sister huffed in annoyance, likely biting her lip to keep her interrogation at bay.

“It can’t work,” he said.

“Well why the bloody hell not?” Dís cried.

“He has no short-term memory, Dís,” Thorin finally admitted, voice soft.

There was a pause, his sister for once in her life at a loss for words. Then, “I’m coming over.” Determined, she disconnected before Thorin could plead for mercy.

 

True to her word, later that evening there came an insistent pounding on his door. Pulling himself from the couch he had been lounging on – and no, he was not moping. He simply liked to lie silently for hours, glaring at the ceiling and not bothering to change out of his suit – he slowly ambled towards the door, inwardly cursing whatever cruel Vala decided he needed a younger sister.

Swinging the door open, Thorin quickly slammed it shut.

Or he would have, if not for the damned steel-toed boot getting in the way.

“No!” Thorin growled. “I told you to keep this between us, Dís!”

“Actually,” his sister exclaimed, peeking her head through the widening gap with a sickeningly triumphant grin. “You really didn’t.”

Feeling his arms buckle under the force, Thorin sprang away, narrowly escaping the door’s slam into the wall. He turned to the surprise guest with a lethal glare, muttering darkly, “That better not leave a mark.”

Dwalin strolled in, shrugging off Thorin’s threats without a care. “Feelin’ a little lovesick, aye, cousin?” Grinning mercilessly, he gave the businessman a jostling elbow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorin hissed through clenched teeth. Stepping towards his sister, he bent down to her ear, vowing, “I will never forgive you for this.”

Dís rolled her eyes, giving her brother an undaunted pat on the shoulder. “Sure, Thorin, whatever you say.”

The invaders made themselves at home in the living room, Dwalin sprawling out on the couch much like Thorin had moments ago. Dís slammed the man’s legs, but Dwalin refused to budge. Muttering about the lack of chivalry, Dís sank into the loveseat.

“Shall we begin?” Dís asked, looking up at her brother with a too-sweet smile.

“What is there to discuss?” Thorin muttered, plopping down on the floor when it became apparent he was not going to be given a seat. In his own home.

“Why don’t we start with how you two love-birds met?” Dís cooed.

Shooting his sister a contemptuous glare, Thorin clarified, “We are not _love-birds_.” He received two unimpressed stares from his uninvited guests. Sighing, he continued, “We met at a diner. I sat down at his table. We talked.”

“Oh, how romantic,” Dís grumbled.

Before Thorin could defend himself, his friend cut in. “Thorin, managing to talk? That’s ‘bout as romantic as it gets with him.”

Scratch that _friend_ part.

As her laughing died down, Dís turned to Thorin, voice uncomfortably soft. “In all seriousness, brother. You said he has a problem with his memory?”

The businessman shifted from his spot on the floor. “He’s unable to store new long-term memories.”

Dwalin let out a low whistle, finally sitting up from his lazy sprawl. Dís rubbed her chin, nodding in agreement with Dwalin’s unspoken sentiment.

“He doesn’t remember ye then, aye?”

“He can’t,” Thorin muttered.

“But you’ve only just met!” Dís insisted. “Maybe if you spend more time together, he’ll start remembering you!”

“You don’t get it!” Thorin growled, jumping to his feet. Pacing back and forth, he ran his fingers through his tangled hair in frustration. “He _can’t_ remember. He doesn’t even know anything’s wrong with him!” He turned away from his guests, unable to bear the pitying looks on their faces. “It’s been over a year, and he hasn’t improved.”

“So that’s it then?” Dís called, no doubt rolling her eyes at what she would claim to be Thorin’s theatrics. “I haven’t seen you this infatuated in years, maybe _ever_!”

Dwalin grunted in agreement.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Thorin hunched inwards, stomach roiling with conflict. Walking over to her brother, Dís put an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

“The brother I know is stubborn, pig-headed, hot-tempered –”

“Dís!” Thorin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“My _point is_ ,” she continued unabashed, “It’s unlike you to just give up; not without a fight.”

“How do you fight something you can’t even see?” Thorin asked, voice tight.

“Mahal wept!” Dwalin groaned, pushing to his feet. “Would you get yer head outta yer arse already?”

The siblings turned towards the man, but Dwalin held up a meaty fist before they could say anything. “What’s stopping ye from spending time with him? Sure, he’ll forget ye come morning, but that just means when ye fuck up – and I know ye will –” Thorin’s eyes narrowed scathingly as his sister chucked, “Ye get to start over.”

As Thorin fell silent, contemplating, his sister murmured softly, “I think you should give it a try, at least. If it doesn’t work out, at least you know you tried.”

 

With the excruciating emotions out of the way, the three opened up the case of beers and drank the night away, talking and laughing and reminiscing. Hours later they left, Dís remembering she had left her two teenage boys alone for far too long. As they were walking towards her car – Dwalin stumbling more than anything – Thorin’s sister stopped abruptly, turning to her brother with a sly grin.

“Brother!” she called. “You never even told us your lover’s name!”

Thorin ducked his head, cursing himself as a smile spread across his face unbidden. He could only hope the dark of night would hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. “Bilbo,” he finally replied, voice soft with tenderness.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY this has taken so long. Forgive me 3

The third time Thorin arrived at the diner, he was filled with something unexpected: hope. It was a strange feeling, almost foreign; his limbs felt free and loose, his chest open and no longer constricted by chronic stress. It was a fool’s hope, no doubt – going to meet a man who did not remember him, nor would he tomorrow. But Dís was right; he could not give up, not without trying. There was something about Bilbo that drew Thorin in. Even if the businessman knew next to nothing about him, he determined to change that.

Instead of the mild distaste that Thorin first felt when entering the rickety diner, he was filled with anticipation. Blue eyes immediately scanned the patrons, a smile tugging underneath a full beard when the searching gaze landed. He didn’t even have to worry about what he was going to say – he already knew what would put an enchanting smile on the man’s face.

Determined strides quickened, leading him to the blessed booth, hands smoothing down his jacket nervously –

A strong grip on his shoulder had the businessman spinning around, coming face-to-face with the grim frown of the usually jovial waiter.

“What do ye think ye’re doin’, then?” Bofur hissed, pulling a stunned Thorin towards the kitchen once more. This time Thorin shrugged off the tugging hand, though he deigned to follow the worker nevertheless.

Once passing through the swinging doors to the back, Thorin really should not have been surprised when he was confronted with a yelling, knife-wielding Bifur. Yet once again he jumped back, arms coming up defensively.

The worker snarled in a deep, harsh tongue, waving the cooking implement wildly.

“I won’t ask ye again,” Bofur warned, arms crossed threateningly as he allowed his (cousin – but does Thorin know that?) to rant nonsensically.

“I was going to see Bilbo,” Thorin said, shoulders stiffening.

Bofur sighed, tugging at a curled mustache. “Did ye hear _anythin_ ’ I said, lad?”

Thorin huffed at the condescending name, fists clenching at his side. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Bifur, who had gone silent, snarled at the words.

“It’s enough with the knife already, cousin,” Bofur admonished, watching carefully as the man placed the would-be weapon back on the counter.

“What was he saying?” Thorin mumbled as the kitchen worker turned his back.

“Oh, just the various ways he will maim and kill you if you go anywhere near Bilbo,” Bofur said, cheerful tone and twitching smile belying his words.

Bifur rattled on, likely agreeing with his cousin’s sentiments as Thorin grumbled, “A little severe, isn’t it?”

Bofur sighed, tapping the left side of his forehead. “My cousin’s got a head injury, y’see.” As Bofur explained, Bifur’s shoulders hunched forwards, the man stumbled off as he muttered to himself, as though he was unable to listen to another explanation. “Left ‘im a bit strange. Woke up babbling in the ancient language of our ancestors. When we found out Bilbo had a head injury, which also left him an outsider amongst friends and family…” Bofur trailed off, shrugging with a sad, nostalgic smile. “He’s real protective, y’see.”

Thorin eyed the kitchen worker, a strange understanding coming over him. “I see,” he agreed distractedly.

“We can’t let you hurt the lad.”

At those words, Thorin’s head whipped back to the waiter. “You think I would?” he hissed angrily.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s learned of Bilbo’s injury, and tried to have a little fun with ‘im.”

Thorin’s hands clenched painfully tight, nails digging into his skin at the thought. “Who would do such a despicable thing?” he growled, blood burning red hot.

Bofur simply stared at the businessman, eyebrow slowly lifting.

“I’m not here to play games with him,” Thorin snarled, though he could not blame the waiter for his disbelief. “Or have some _fun_. I want to get to know him – I _need_ to.”

“Why?” Bofur countered.

Thorin sighed, self-righteous anger slowly deflating. “That first day, when I sat down with him… It was like we connected, instantly.” Looking up at the waiter, his eyes beseeched for approval. “I haven’t felt that in many years – perhaps ever.”

Bofur’s fingers twiddled with his mustache once more, mulling over Thorin’s confession. “And where do ye think this is goin’ to go, exactly? I told ye, he ain’t goin’ to improve magically.”

“I don’t know,” Thorin admitted slowly. “But I can’t give him up. I swear to you, my intentions are not what you think.”

Bofur stared at businessman silently, but Thorin refused to back down. The waiter soon walked back over to his cousin where the two had a muted exchange, full of strangely detailed hand gestures and muffled growls. The two finally returned, arms crossed in near identical, threatening poses.

“Ye can see ‘im,” Bofur granted, his cousin quickly adding something in his harsh language. “But if ye so much as make ‘im a little upset, Bifur here’ll cut ya a new one.”

Thorin nodded solemnly to the cousins. “I will not hurt him,” he vowed, slipping out of the kitchen before either men could change their minds.

 

With their conversation in mind – particularly Bifur’s threats – Thorin approached Bilbo’s booth with more trepidation than ever before. A glance behind him confirmed both had stopped everything to watch Thorin, eyeing him like two hawks.

Gulping slightly, Thorin turned back to the booth. Bilbo was already partway through his meal, the copious amount of food no different than the previous day. Thorin’s lips twitched as he remembered their first meeting – his fumbling introduction and Bilbo’s answering smile.

The hard part was already done – Thorin knew the line he used originally would work, so there was no need to be so nervous. The businessman stopped a few booths away, pretending to look out at the window’s ever-so scenic view. His hands flattened his suit nervously, fingers combing through his long hair, even though he had taken a painfully long time carefully combing out every tangle that morning. Giving a final rub through his coarse beard, Thorin approached the table. Bilbo did not look up as he walked closer, clearly deeply engrossed in his reading. As the man took another bite of his waffles, Thorin took in a deep breath.

“You sure eat a lot,” the businessman greeted, lips curving upwards in anticipation of Bilbo’s laughing response.

The man in the booth froze, shoulders stiffened as he dropped his knife and fork with a clang. His golden curls rustled as he finally looked up, momentarily distracting the businessman.

“Pardon me?” Bilbo asked slowly.

“I said –”

“I know bloody well what you said!” Bilbo hissed, bright hazel eyes narrowed into a scathing glare. “What in Yavanna’s name is wrong with you?”

“I – I –”

“Do you think you can just waltz right up to someone and insult their eating habits?”

Thorin’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, though nothing came out but strangled words.

“I – I,” Bilbo mocked, forcing Thorin to move back as he stood. Though the man barely reached Thorin’s chest, the weight of his glare made Thorin feel impossibly small. “Did you think you could just belittle me, and I wouldn’t say anything?”

“N-no, I –”

“No, indeed!” Bilbo huffed. A pudgy finger stabbed Thorin painfully in the chest as the man continued, “I won’t stand for bullies such as yourself, not in my dear friend’s diner. You had best pay for whatever meal you _gorged_ yourself on, get in your fancy, expensive car, and _leave_!”

Thorin whipped around, legs unable to carry himself fast enough from the utter humiliation. Loud snorts came from his right, and as Thorin passed the entrance to the kitchen, he saw Bofur doubled over, guffaws muffled under his hand as his cousin glared lethally.

Now, Thorin was not the type to run from danger, but his powerful strides were likely the closest he would ever get. Once in the relative safety of his car, the businessman breathed a sigh of relief even as his brows knitted into a deep frown.

“What the hell just happened?”

**Author's Note:**

> Updates may be a bit sporadic as I started this randomly after watching the movie and I'm still working on another AU but I will try my best! If there's anything you guys want to see in this, feel free to put suggestions/ideas in the comments :)  
> If you enjoyed, feel free to check out my other works, or visit me on tumblr under the same name!


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